


Lovely Images

by suicide_candy_candy



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Sex, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Blow Jobs, F/F, F/M, Gay Bar, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Masturbation, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-09 15:10:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15270213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suicide_candy_candy/pseuds/suicide_candy_candy
Summary: Steve is a raging bisexual. But what does a not-straight do when 1940s America is infested with homophobic assholes? Well, Steve finds himself a little gay bar and busts his ass outta the closet. He makes friends, has a few flings, copes with loving his thought-to-be straight friend Bucky, and even has a relationship along the way. Through this fic, Steve learns more about himself and blossoms as a proud member of the gay agenda.I'll add tags as I go





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place during 1940 exactly, so the war hasn't begun yet.

 

 

Steve was used to it at this point. Bucky didn't usually bring girls he planned to have sex with back to their apartment out of consideration for his roommate, but there were always a few occasions. Steve had been sitting on the couch with his legs crossed, sketching the delicate lines of faces he'd glimpsed in the crowds.

This one was a tall man with unconventionally curly hair, his jaw was sharp and slightly tilted to the left. His nose was straight and slim on the bridge. His lips were full, his cupid's bow dipping generously. His cheekbones curved prominently out of his gently sunken cheeks. His eyes were shaped like almonds, and Steve remembered the infinite pool of blue that was his irises. The only thing Steve couldn't convert to paper was the incredible hue of the man's skin. The light coffee and crème complexion of a southern European. The blue of his eyes stood out shockingly, the color seeming to not fit with his darker complexion.

Steve sighed, his fingers ached from how vigorously he'd forced them to draw the man before he forgot. Steve remembered freezing when he first saw him walking down the sidewalk, going the opposite way from him. He was gorgeous.

He let out a grunt, dropping the sketchbook and pencil into his lap. He flexed his tired hand and massaged it with the other one. He looked around the room, everything seemed saturated and discolored from looking at the same black and white for so long. It was getting darker outside and Steve realized he'd become so entranced with copying every single detail of the man's face onto paper that he'd begun to strain his eyes in the dimming light of the setting sun.

Steve tossed the pencil onto the coffee table, where it rolled a little before lolling to a stop next to a stack of mail. He inspected the drawing of the tan skinned man. He touched his own pink damp lips whilst imagining his fingers were the man's blooming lips. A desperate yearning for another man to hold him in a way that he'd been conditioned to be ashamed of for years.

He was shook from his own thoughts by two sets of feet dancing down the hall and clamoring to a stop at the door of the apartment through the thin walls. He gathered up his notebook and surreptitiously slipped into his bedroom. It was a cheap two bedroom one bathroom apartment, but the rooms were the size of closets.

"Steve! Are you home?" Bucky called loudly enough for Steve to hear him loud and clear.

Steve stayed silent, not wanting to ruin Buck's evening plans if he was with a woman.

"Guess not," Steve heard Bucky's signature chuckle.

The sound of a forced, overenthusiastic, higher pitched giggle followed. Steve heard them make their way to Bucky's bedroom, the door swinging open and then clicking shut in a haste. Steve eased himself onto his awful excuse of a lopsided, lumpy, creaky bed as quietly as possible. Steve looked back at the man's face, the lead of the sketch was fading into the shadow of impeding night.

Steve closed his eyes, dropping the sketchbook beside him on the bed. He heard his friend and the woman whose face he'd probably never know fall onto his bed. He didn't care to listen but the sounds of their encounter carried through to his ears. He heard her soft angelic voice gasp and squeak quietly in the beginning. He heard Bucky groan in satisfaction, his rough living voice vibrating through Steve's mind.

The sound of both of their voices – voices Steve deemed as perfect – went straight to the pit of his stomach. A warm tingling flooded his body. He gripped his cock through his pants but made no other move to satisfy himself. Bucky's headboard hit the wall a few times, the bed frame groaned along with them every so often. He imagined how Bucky was sliding his cock in and out of the mystery woman – he'd pull himself out of her slowly before snapping back in, the head of his cock thrusting so deep into her she'd shiver.

Steve shamefully used the sound of their fucking to mimics his own fantasy. He pressed his fingers to his lips once more, still gripping his hardening cock through two layers of fabric in his other hand. He slipped his pointer and middle finger into his mouth, twisting them with his tongue. Saliva trickled down his fingers, his hand, his cheek. He stayed in one position (on his side) as to not make any noise that would alert his masturbation material to his presence.

He wondered, however, how it would feel to have his legs spread wide like hers probably were. His body opened up for the man he'd only glimpsed on the street. He slipped his hand into his underwear to grasp himself, in all his heat and stiffness. _How_ _big_ _would_ _his_ _cock_ _be_ _?_ He wondered. His mind raced around, thoughts and images of the dark skinned man fucking into his smaller body with desperation, the two of them gasping while Steve wrapped his arms around his shoulders, he would jerk him off as he fucked him.

_This_ _is_ _so_ _wrong_ _and_ _disgusting_ _._ His mind fluttered away from his desire to illicit shame onto him. He ignored it, defiantly stroking his dripping erection tightly while still imagining being fucked by a man. He shot back at the shame in his mind with a _Watch_ _me_ _fuck_ _this_ _**man**_ _because_ _it_ _feels_ _fucking_ _fantastic_ _._ His soul was filled with a glimmer of sadness at the reality that we was not in fact having sex with the beautiful man. He rubbed the head of his cock, still fucking his mouth with his fingers. He shuddered as the moans in the room next to his became more brittle and coarse. The encouraging moans from the woman rattled Steve's ears, his cheeks flushed a deep crimson and he gasped around his fingers. He heard Bucky moan, his deep voice mixing harshly with the lithe voice of the woman. Their moans muffled and Steve figured they had begun kissing. They were trying to make as much contact as possible, trying to mold themselves into the other, trying to become one with the other. Steve wanted to mold with someone, he wanted to sink so close to another that they became one even if just for a moment, he wanted to press every inch of skin to someone who wanted to press every inch of skin onto him.

 Steve pulled his fingers from his mouth and pulled his hand out of his pants, licking it with his overly-moist tongue. He covered his mouth then and went back to jerking off with his wet palm. His hips shuddered, his grip tightened, his eyelids shut tighter, he gasped, the woman's moans became more strained, his imagination wandered to the man he'd drawn then to Bucky. His stomach tightened, his cock throbbed, his entire body went tense. He came with a whine, he buried his face into his flat pillow, his underwear grew wetter and stickier with each string that sputtered out.

He licked his cum off of his hand limply. He shimmied his clothes off, tossing them on the floor beside his bed absently. He tugged the blanket over his body, curling into himself and falling asleep nude. There was no way of knowing if the woman with the beautiful voice would leave after they finished or if she would sleep in his bed until morning.

 

***

 

Steve sat up in bed the next morning. The cruel morning sun casting its all knowing glare onto the world. The events of the previous night rushed back to his head and he groaned. He felt slightly filthy for using his best friend and the woman he was having sex with as masturbation material. The guilt pushed down on his fragile shoulders like the devil as he tugged his dresser drawer open to put on fresh clothes. The clock read 6:34.

He opened his bedroom door to find Bucky sitting on the couch. His brunette friend perked up at seeing Steve.

"Hey! When did you get in last night?" He inquired.

"Oh, around 6 or 6:30 I think," Steve sighed, pouring a coffee for himself in the sorry excuse for a kitchen.

"But... I got in at like 8..." Bucky's face fell blank.

"I know. I _was_ sleeping until you got in. Do you even remember her name?"

"Pffft, of course!"

"Let's hear it."

"Carol."

"Okay."

"It could have been Kate..." Bucky looked off into the distance.

"Whatever you say."

"Maybe it was Claire..."

"You're digging your own grave at this point, Buck," Steve chuckled.

Bucky smiled, patting the spot on the couch next to him. Steve sat down, nursing his coffee. The heated ceramic stung his hands in a gentle tingling way. It was nice.

"So, what are the plans for today?" Steve asked, sipping the black liquid.

"Miss Almbridge said she needed help moving crates -- y'know the sweet old lady who co-owns the metal factory downtown?"

"Mhmm. Sounds quite noble of you," Steve teased.

"Oh yeah, real noble. How about you?"

"I'm gonna walk around. Look at the city and the people. So I can draw. My fingers are really itchy."

"Please don't go looking for trouble, Steve."

"Trouble? I would never."

 

***

 

_Okay, so I may have fibbed about not getting into trouble,_ Steve thought, _but that guy was being a real ass to that lady._ Steve put his arms up over his head to protect his skull from the man's fat fist. He slammed his clenched fist down on Steve's arms. Steve's arms buckled under the force and the man hit him straight over the head. He collapsed, falling to his knees first, then falling on his right side. The man's shoe collided with Steve's body and he curled up. The man kicked him a few more times, his foot digging into his ribs, his back, his thighs, his arms, his confidence. The man spit on him with a curse and made off on his way.

Steve let out a painful breath of air and stammered up. He felt a hand on his shoulder. Startled, he looked up to see the woman he'd been pummeled to defend.

"I'm Fae. What's your name?" She smiled, pulling him up.

"Steve."

"Well, Steve, you're a bigger man than the most of em, no matter how tall they are." Fae gestured for them to start walking.

Steve couldn't help the smile that broke onto his face. Never had a woman _ever_ payed attention to him in a kind way before. He tried to remember every detail of her face so he could add her likeness to his sketchbook later. He noted the light brown, curly bob haircut she sported. The polka-dotted headband which held back most of her thick locks behind her ears. Her bangs which swooped to one side more than the other. Her heart shaped face, slightly-less-than-prominent cheekbones, small pointed nose. He committed to memory the dark rouge of her lipstick and the absence of any eye make-up. The light chestnut of her soft oval eyes.

She was on the slimmer side with smaller _assets,_ her navy blue coat hugged her slim waist tightly. The hem of it fell to her upper thighs and below that rested a pleated emerald green skirt that fell just below her knees, fluttering as she walked alongside him. She wore black stalkings under the skirt. Her clothes were finished off by a pair of black shoes with a slight heel to them.

They walked along aimlessly, talking about everything they could think of that they'd like to tell another person. Steve told her of his love for art and sketching. She told him about how she loved to cook (and eat). He admitted that he had a bit of a habit of getting into altercations with guys he really couldn't take on. She told him she worked in a pastry shop and a tailoring shop that were right next to each other so she hopped back and forth doing double shifts.

"Where are we walking?" Steve asked in between anecdotes. 

"My apartment's down this way. I hope you don't mind walking me home, I've got to pick something up before I go to a party," she admitted, giving a pained smile.

"No problem at all. What kind of party, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Umm... do you know where the Painted Mermaid is?"

"I can't say that I do."

"I'm trusting you with this information, okay? Go there at your own risk and if you don't like what you see, just leave and forget about it."

Fae had stopped walking at this point, her shoulders shook ever so gently. She steadied herself, standing stiff as a board, casting a steel gaze at Steve.

At the chilling change in her demeanor, Steve froze too, confused. Whatever it was couldn't possibly be _that_ bad.

"I promise."

Steve pulled out his sketchpad and pencil, handing it to Fae so she could scribble down the directions. She set the starting point at a well known restaurant called The Summer's Dawn. Her fingers shook as she twirled the cursive letters onto the grainy paper. She handed them back to Steve and twiddled with her coat sleeve.

"Fae," he began to get her attention, "I wont cause problems for you. If the place isn't for me, I'll leave. I swear."

She licked her lips thinking for a moment. "I believe you. I do."

She motioned for them to keep walking and they did. Two blocks later and they reached an apartment complex with peach colored paint and a white accent.

"Well, I do hope to see you tonight, Steven."

"I hope to see you as well."

Steve took her hand in a bold move, kissing her knuckles. She smiled brightly and waved him a goodbye. Steve couldn't wait to get back to his apartment and see if Bucky was back from helping Miss Almbridge so he could gloat about technically getting a date.

 

***

 

Steve sat around waiting for 10:30 (Fae had designated a time on her directions stating that the party would start at 11:00) to roll around. By 10:00, Bucky was nowhere to be found. Steve figured it couldn't be helped as it was a Saturday. He switched the lamp beside the couch off and gather himself. He tore the directions out of his sketchbook and locked up the apartment.

Steve made his way to the restaurant and started following the directions. It was almost a straight shot, save for a few turns here and there. As Steve made his last left, he looked up and saw something that caught his eye. It was the man he'd sketched. The man strode through a set of doors in the beginning of an alley way in front of him. On the door was a symbol of a blue-tailed mermaid whose hair consisted of, Steve was sure, the entire rainbow. 


	2. Chapter 2

Steve stared at the doors, completely dumbfounded for a moment. But if that man was going into that building, that's where Steve wanted to be. He hopped across the rest of the sidewalk and pushed the doors open. There was a dimly lit hallway behind the doors. After walking through it briefly, heart nearly exploding in anticipation, Steve came across a flight of stairs going down. He looked around, not seeing any other way to go he began making his way down them.

Steve reached the bottom of the stairs, squinting in the dim light of the warm wall lamps. His footsteps traveled hollowly only momentarily before fading into silence. He saw a man and a woman standing on each side of a solid door at the bottom. Steve approached hesitantly.

"Steve! This is the fella I was telling you about, Jim," Fae chirped, waving at Steve.

Steve waved back. The man wore a tux and dress pants. He was buff, a real ox of a man. His black hair combed over his forehead endearingly, giving him a friendly aura. His face was emotionless, he raised a muscular arm and took a drag of his cigarette. Steve could have sworn the man was staring into his soul.

"Well, go ahead in with your new friend. Hope it works out," Jim begrudgingly murmured, opening the old door.

Fae patted Jim's shoulder and walked Steve into the basement. She was wearing a short sleeved, form fitting pink dress. Music flooded Steve's ears instantly. Fae tossed a half heartedly hung curtain over their heads as they walked into the small, crowded room. The was a stage at the center of one of the walls, a bar parallel to it's left. There were tables scattered around randomly. Men and women laughed, chatted, drank, sang, and made out.

Then Steve noticed that men were making out with men and women were making out with women. Men danced with men and women danced with women.

"This here's a mixed club, Steve," Fae stated, sheepishly.

"I can see that," Steve whispered, in utter shock.

"Do you– is this– I mean– does this place interest you maybe?"

"Dear God yes."

Fae sighed happily, walking the entranced blond further into the Painted Mermaid.

"Well, let me introduce you to someone so you can maybe get the hang of it around here. It's not really just a club like the rest of the world has. I like to think we're a community when we're in this room, not just a group of strangers looking for a way to feel something."

She started toward the bar, Steve followed in suit. She scanned the seats for someone specific before a smile flashed over her lips. She skipped along and pinched the shoulders of a man in a caramel coat. Steve's heart literally stopped working when he reached the man and recognized him.

"Cecilio, this is Steve. Steve, Cecilio."

Steve extended a hand out of habit. Cecilio smiled and shook his hand. His hands were somewhere in between soft and rough. His touch was gentle but manly. Fae called over the bartender and ordered a drink.

"Steve, you want anything?" Her voice snapped Steve out of his trance.

"Uh yeah, surprise me I guess."

He and Fae took a seat at the bar, placing Cecilio in the middle. The bartender slid Steve a Fae their drinks.

"So Steve," Fae began, sipping on a brightly colored drink, "since you haven't gone running for the hills, that must mean you're like us?"

"Uh, yeah. I guess so," Steve chuckled coyly.

"So you got yourself a label or you a go with the flow kind of guy?" Fae prodded.

"I've always liked women, but when I was a teenager I think I started liking guys in the same way that I liked girls."

"Good to know. I," Fae declared proudly, crossing her legs, "am a big 'ol queer beyond any measure!"

"Amen!" A few patrons echoed her joy lightheartedly.

"Ever been with either?" She asked.

"Nah. No one wants a little guy like me."

"You'd be surprised, sunshine ~" a man said in passing.

Steve smiled absently and lifted his drink to his lips. A gentle blush faded into his cheeks as he mulled over the simple realization that maybe he was attractive. Fae spun around in her stool, scanning the generously sized crowd. Steve saw her smile and wave a few times out of the corner of his eye. A group sat to the left of the stage, a man playing the piano, another man playing a saxaphone, and a blond woman singing while strumming a guitar. The song was an upbeat tune and Steve faintly recognized it as "Blue Skies" by Irving Berlin.

He became lost in the essence of the room, taking in the club in its entirety. A feeling of unease sunk into him and churned in his gut with the excitement of finding people who were just like him. The feeling of unease stemmed from that nagging voice in the back of his mind. The voice that whispered in his ear like a cruel demon conjured up to haunt him for some wrongdoing. The voice that whispered  _What you are isn't right, isn't normal, it's disgusting._ The giggling and flirting and genuine happiness from the rest of the room choked the voice in his head out. His heartbeat began to settle.  

"Would you quit sitting there like a lump, Cee," Fae turned back to face the bar and nudged her friend's shoulder with her own. 

"Sorry, you know I'm not much of a talker," He mumbled shyly in Fae's direction before offering Steve a kind glance. 

Steve felt frozen by Cecilio. His skin chilled to the bone, he could feel his flesh tensing taut with his muscles. His ears grew warm and he felt like they'd been slightly violated by Cecilio's gentle, soft, baritone voice. The glance lingered, turning into an equally held gaze. The chill that captivated Steve melted in the warm oceanic pools of Cecilio's eyes.

In that moment something slowly began to sink in for him. When he'd earlier pleasured himself to the sound of his best friend having sex and he'd imagined Cecilio's hands on him, he'd also imagined Bucky's hands on him. He realized that he always got into more trouble than necessary just for Bucky to dote on him and _touch_ him after the fact. The truth, plain and simple, was that Bucky seeped into Steve's desires and fantasies more than he'd like to admit.

But Cecilio wasn't Bucky. And Bucky was, quite obviously in Steve's eyes, straight.

Then and there, as quickly as Steve had accepted his attraction to his childhood friend in a club for homosexuals in a random basement, he'd shot himself down. Because his blatantly straight best friend who was always sleeping with women, and going on dates, and trying to set Steve up with dames, would never in the wildest dimension be even a bit queer.

Cecilio leaned closer to Steve, kicking him out of his spiraling mind. He glanced out of the corner of his eye, waiting for the bartender to walk away.

"If you sleep with that bartender," he motioned to the one with thick black hair, "you'll get free drinks for as long as he can remember how you were in bed. And you're just about his type."

"Oh– um– I've never, y'know, been with anyone..." Steve stammered, lowering his sights to the dark stained wood counter.

"I didn't realize. It's been a while since someone new to this has been introduced to our circle."

Cecilio closed his eyes, going back to his drink.

"I should probably change it," Steve continued.

"Change what?"

"I should have sex with someone."

Cecilio cocked and eyebrow at the blond. He took in the sight of the nervous but determined man. Steve was sitting so stiffly in the barstool (back hunched, legs stiffly resting beside the pegs, shoulders raised, arms like unmoving stones) it was making Cecilio uncomfortable just looking at him.

"I just have no idea how to have sex with a man, I mean I have _ideas_ _,_ but I don't actually _know_ _._ I don't wanna embarrass myself but I don't wanna be a virgin forever –"

"I'm gonna stop you right there," Cecilio halted Steve's ramblings.

Steve sighed heavily.

"So, were gonna start with you taking your jacket off because you look like you're about to begin sweating."

Steve briskly shrugged off his jacket hung it on the small backrest of the stool. Fae hopped out of her seat, patting the two on the shoulder before prancing off into the room. Steve's eyes followed her, naturally wanting to pinpoint where the only familiar face was going. She hooked her arms around a woman, whose dark skin glowed bronze in the dim lights of the basement.

"Next," Cecilio brought him back, "you're too tense. Loosen your muscles."

Steve let most of his body go limp for a moment. He instantly felt all of his muscles stretch into a natural hold, his back straightened slightly, his shoulders slumped comfortably.

"Now," he sighed, "I want you to tell me that you're not going to do anything tonight unless you absolutely want to."

"I don't want to give my body to someone I don't know," Steve admitted.

"I understand how you feel."

"Have you slept with anyone?"

"Here and there. I'm not that big of a fan of sleeping around."

"So you know how to...?"

"Obviously. But I'm not going to sleep with you."

"I wasn't suggesting that!" Steve assured him hastily.

"Then what?"

"Would you tell me? What I'm supposed to do, I mean."

Cecilio inhaled sharply, rubbing the side of his neck with his hand. He then used both hands to rub his eyelids momentarily. No matter how hard he rubbed, he couldn't get the endearing pale blue of Steve's pleading eyes out of his mind. He knew the little shit would be trouble the second he stumbled in with Fae.

But Cecilio found that as the blond irritated him at first, he really didn't mind the trouble.

"Okay, kid. I'll tell you the ropes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a bit shorter than I would have liked it to be, but at least it was decent in quality? The next chapter might be up sooner than Friday if I get my shit together. If you want Steve to bang the bartender, leave a comment, drop a kudos, join my cult, etc.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this wasn't as cringy as I think it was. If you liked it, let me know cause I enjoyed writing it.


End file.
